Portret života mog [English translation]

The Moon spills an ewer of phosphorus.

Frost makes the window glass stained.

Once at night, like this night is, only God knows it,

The portrait of my life will be painted out.

The silhouette is being perceived for a long time.

Somebody sighs, somebody jibs.

They see the same things, but they explain those things as opposite.

Devil dips his fingers into paint colours.

CHORUS:

You painted the portrait of my life with right colours:

Waves of blue, a shade of lava, a whirl of green.

And lilac, dark and longing,

And a colour of peaches, gently and shamefull,

The sad type of gray, faultless.

I found pink in your old letters.

A livid bow over the heavy ideas,

I stole the russet from bird's plumages,

And a light purple from the first grapes.

I took ocher from the candler's candle,

The tan from the silk tie,

The dark from the sad-music drum

The vermilion from clown's nose.

CHORUS:

You painted the portrait of my life with right colours:

Waves of blue, a shade of lava, a whirl of green.

But you added a lot of blacks,

So without black, all the white would have been faded out.

Without black, all the white would have been worthless.

My heart is ruptured

As peel of old tree,

But my heart still sleeps in your eye like fawn.

And, barely, like whispers,

Golden ferns are sprouting in the angle.

A lock of my dream comes into the portrait sometimes.

The idly wind is coming over the shadows.

My roar will disappear in the abyss of the silence.

Once at night, like this night is, only God knows it,

The portrait of my life will be painted out.

• Artist:Đorđe Balašević